Some of Them Want
by za
Summary: Very dark look at abuse in the relationships of Curt and Brian. Chapter Three's up. Enjoy.
1. To Abuse You

Title: Some of Them Want: To Abuse You

Author: mao

Disclaimer: Velvet Goldmine characters, likenesses, plotlines, etc. belong to Todd Haynes, Michael Stipe, etc. The quote at the beginning and the title belong to Eurythmics, from their song, "Sweet Dreams." In other words, I am poor and am not trying to make any cash off this. Please don't sue me.

Author's Notes: Part one of a four-part piece on abuse and passion. I was listening to a lot of Marilyn Manson when I wrote this. Oops. Note: I fixed the formatting on this because it was really bothering me. Hope it's a bit better now. 

Warnings: Asshole!Curt, asshole!Brian, abuse, language, incest, violent sex. Really, really dark. I must be really screwed up to write this.

***

**some of them want to use you**

**some of them want to be used**

**some of them want to abuse you**

**some of them want to be abused**

The slap rings out, across the empty room like a whip cracking. Brian can feel the welt rising up on his cheek, red and blisteringly painful and yetÉperfect. Exactly what he wanted. He reaches a hand up to the splotch on his otherwise porcelain cheek, a small smile playing across his lips. His lipstick was smeared with the slap, his blush spreading or maybe it's just the blood rising up. It's hard to tell with all the makeup he wears, but the tears have stopped now, and his eyeliner is only halfway down his face, the black lines stopped in thinly crusted tracks.

But then Curt's face is collapsing in. "Oh Brian, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean "

"Of course you did," he's cut off. Brian can feel the rage rising up inside of him again at Curt's sudden deflation. That anger, that fury that his lover had had only moments beforeÉgone? Can't be, he wants to scream. The way Curt's expression is changing at Brian's flat statement the clearly-cut regret and anguish on his face is too much. "You know you meant to, you bleeding tosser! Do it again, why don't you? Hit me again whilst I'm down!" 

Curt's eyes are bulging. He's spluttering, "What do you mean? I didn't mean I mean, I didn't want IÉBrian?" He's confused; he doesn't know the rules to this new game, this violent expression of cruelty and rage. "What are you going on about? I didn't mea-"

And he's cut off by Brian's fist in his stomach, a single, harsh punch into the gut. Curt doubles over as his lover's voice continues taunting him angrily. "Did your brother have to beat you to get you off, Curt? Because I can do it too. I can smack you around twice as well as he did." A swift kick into Curt's vulnerable back. With Brian's boots, there'll be a hideous bruise there tomorrow, but neither of them care.

As Curt lies there, he finds himself wondering how it came to this.

They're lying on the bed, wrapped around each other, fully clothed. They've just reached the hotel, and there's nothing better than a quick nap for the jet lag. Or, because of insomnia, just lying in each others' arms, in the heat of their bodies.

"Tell me about your brother," Brian says quietly. Curt turns to look at him, fixes him with a square gaze.

"You mean that?" A nod. "No one's ever actually asked me about him before."

And so it slowly all comes outÉthe forced sex, the penetration by foreign objects, the blow jobs he used to give his brother in the bathroom. Quiet caresses before bed, quickies when mom and dad were both out, a foot sliding up his leg at the dinner table. Just enough petting combined with violence to keep a young boy completely entranced, totally enslaved.

"He did all that?" The look on Brian's face is pure curiosity, not an ounce of contempt, not an inch of irritation or amazement. A nod from Curt. "And you liked it?" After another moment, another nod. "Would you like it if I did it?" Curt sits up, away from his lover, trying to ascertain where this is coming from.

"Excuse me?" His voice is rough, low from all the talking of the past hour. "What are you talking about?" There's confusion clear on his face, panic riding the tones of his voice. Brian sits up to face him, looking him clean in the eye.

"Well, if it turned you on to get it from your brotherÉI mean, I don't ever seem to be doing it all right. You still haven't come." And then Curt slaps him.

"Oh, come on, Curt," Brian whines maliciously. "You liked it from your brother just fine. Why not from me?"

Curt slowly picks himself up off the floor, forcing himself to meet his lover's eyes. "You don't know shit about me and him. Just leave him the fuck out of it, you fucker."

"Don't know shit?" Brian's eyes are glittering, cold like diamonds. "You just told me the whole lot of it." Curt bites his lip, and Brian continues, ruthlessly dissecting their relationships. "I just want to know why I don't turn you on. If it's violence you wantÉI'll give it to you."

And then his head rocks back, as Curt punches him viciously in the jaw. "Don't you ever talk like that again," Curt informs him, pressing Brian against the wall, hard, unlacing the top of his pants. He rips Brian's down viciously, then takes him, hard, pressing the Brian against the window frame.

There's no lube, and the edge of the window bites into Brian's vulnerable thighs, but as Curt shudders hard, coming into him, he can't help but grin.


	2. To Be Used

Title: Some of Them Want: To Be Used

Author: mao

Disclaimer: Velvet Goldmine characters, likenesses, plotlines, etc. belong to Todd Haynes, Michael Stipe, etc. The quote at the beginning and the title belong to Eurythmics, from their song, "Sweet Dreams." In other words, I am poor and am not trying to make any cash off this. Please don't sue me.

Author's Notes: Dear Lord...Todd would kill me for this, don't you think? He'd just...napalm my house.

Warnings: Asshole!Brian, angry!Jack, sexual activity. Not as dark as the last chapter, and has firm basis in the film.

***

He wandered slowly into the room, closedthe door behind him softly. He'd seen Jack watching him from across the club, and he'd known in an instant - when he saw the gleaming of the green gem in his ear - that he had to have it. He'd do whatever it took, too.

He'd seen Jack's heavily made up eyes trace a line down his body, and known that he could have the older pop idol if he'd only try. But it was the twinkling gem hanging from Jack's ear that caught his eye, that kept him entranced.

He had to have it.

There was no other option.

He _had_ to have it.

So he followed Jack up here, shut the door behind them. Grabbed the taller man roughly by the back of the neck, kissed him quickly, softly, then harder and harder. Jack made no argument, no move to stop him - indeed, when Brian pulled back, the older man kept staring, as if he couldn't believe his good fortune. And then they both seemed to step back for a moment, suddenly shy.

Like they couldn't take the tension.

Then Jack was leaning forward again, lips landing on Brian's own, bruising him with kisses, running caresses down Brian's slender body, trying to hold him, but the other man was fluid, hands tangling in Jack's hair and scarf, long slim fingers pinching and prodding Jack's ass, his thin hips, tracing shivering lines up and down his cock. Jack shuddered into Brian's arms, but he was already running, already out the door, gone down the hall, before he could be stopped.

Something was missing, and at first Jack couldn't figure out what it was. It seemed at first it was something mental, something physiological, almost, because the whole encounter had been so weird. Kisses, teasing caresses, and then he was alone with his thoughts again.

It wasn't until he sat at the dressing table and looked at his reflection in the mirror, gently smearing red over his lips, that he realized it was missing.

He raged.

He threw a pot of rouge into the mirror, shattering the glass and sending it flying. He nearly lifted the chair to fling it out the window, but caught himself before he did anything so stupid and irrational. He paused in the center of the room, holding himself still, forcing himself calm.

And then he began pacing, like a tiger in a cage. Deciding his next move.

He had it.

He'd _won._

It'd been so easy, slipping the thin metal of the earring out of Jack's earlobe, hiding it in his hand, letting it slip down his sleeve as he ran away. He'd almost been caught when he first tried to slip it out, but he'd wanted to laugh, to giggle insanely with his victory when Jack kissed him again.

His body would get him in anywhere.

And now he had it. He slipped the pin off the earring and looked at it carefully, examining the emerald gleam of it in the flashing lights of the club.

Everything would be his now.


	3. To Be Abused

Title: Some of Them Want: To Be Abused

Author: mao

Disclaimer: Velvet Goldmine characters, likenesses, plotlines, etc. belong to Todd Haynes, Michael Stipe, etc. The quote at the beginning and the title belong to Eurythmics, from their song, "Sweet Dreams." In other words, I am poor and am not trying to make any cash off this. Please don't sue me.

Author's Notes: I've quit my job and am not back at school yet, so I've got a little time to write [not much, but perhaps something good will come out of this?].

I hate to say it, but this is total smut. Low-key smut, not half of what I could write...but still total smut. 

I'm such a wordwhore.

Warnings: Semi-graphic sex, some drug use. Bondage - not graphic, but definitely there. Totally worth an R rating, baby.

***

His head dives between her legs and her breath comes out in tiny, hitched gasps. Her head is buried in the valley of a feather pillow, her back arched, thrusting her pelvis into his face, and he's attacking her from all sides revelling in the new scents and tastes that flow from her body. He can feel her shuddering and he pulls back, chin damp. She looks up at him, smiling delicately as he licks his lips, and leans up on weak elbows. 

"How would you feel about being tied up?" She's been with men who wanted to tie her up before - as a hooker in New York, she'd encountered all types. She'd never let them though - she'd never trusted her clients. There'd been balding men with potbellies and swarthy eurotrash with greasy bills and slick smiles and a few pimply teenagers, but she'd always been too smart to allow one of them to tie her up.

But now - Brian he's something else, isn't he? Reddish hair falling around his face, that delicate boyish body - and something in his face that makes her want to trust him.

Besides, not as if he's going to rob her blind, is it?

"Nevermind. It was a stupid question." She's taken too long to respond, and now he's blushing, looking away at the paisley of her bedspread. His cheeks are a pale pink like blush, and she smiles at him. Gently, she reaches out one pale hand and places it on his cheek, turning his face to look at her.

"There's some rope in the drawer below the cutlery drawer, in the kitchen," she tells him.

Oh, that grin.

His wrists are getting chafed by the handcuffs - two pairs, linking him to the posts at the head of her bed. His ankles are tied to the other posts with twine, and she hovers over him like a spector, dirty blonde curls just brushing his chest. Her mouth closes gently on one of his nipples, lips circling it, closing over it, and then back up. He moans softly, and she grins, extends her tongue, and licks it gently. 

He rattles the bed, tugging at the twine and the freezing metal, and her teeth close on his nipple - softly at first, then so hard he cries out with sudden excitement. He can feel the heat of her breath, scorching from between her lips as her tongue flicks out again, teasing him. He's rising and he knows it.

Look at her, panting with anticipation.

In a back alley, arms held over her head, his teeth and lips and tongue attacking the side of her neck. He holds her wrists with his right hand while his other sneaks up her skirt, toying with the sensitive skin below. They're both clothed, but she can feel the chill of the building's bricks through her thin coat. She writhes and gasps, almost incapable of containing herself, but he holds her down and continues his attack on the underside of her neck.

She's getting bruises already - faint blushes of lavendar and yellow blooming under the pristine white of her skin - and his teethmarks glow a nuclear red against the painting he's creating with the pressure of his mouth.

The popping crack of the whip.

Every day there's a new bruise. Sometimes he comes back to the hotel room drunk and angry and hits her, hard across the cheek or the ass, slaps and punches. The next day she wears long sleeves and tights to hide his marks - and escapes to the bathroom often to lift her top and press on the bruise, to see the beautiful flower it makes in her skin.

Sometimes she gets a bag of coke or heroin, and they chop it fine and snort it off each other's bodies during foreplay. The feeling of a razor scraping against the skin - of the cells straining to support it, to not fall beneath the slow, careful motion - and the occasional scratch or deep cut, blood staining the now-useless white powder, the feel of a drug crumbling into a wound. 

He gets off on the way she looks tied to the bed, the way she strains agains the twine, the way she smacks him hard with the whip and then licks where the welt rises, red on his skin.

Some people might call it abuse. Some call it dangerous. Some call it wrong.

Some call it natural. Some call it beautiful.

Some call it love.

***

In answer to a question from one reader: no, I don't have a "thing for Curt having a repressed BDSM fetish." He's been abused, and that's one response - one that I have chosen in the past to explore and exploit, as I find it the most clear in his character. If you don't like it, don't read it.

On the other hand, I have a BDSM fetish. So get over it.


End file.
